Bengaluru a city that breathes between jams, raindrops & laughter

I have never believed in the concept of belonging to a city or a village. I belong to people — to emotions shared, laughter exchanged, and memories made. Yet, for the past two decades, I have found myself rooted in Bengaluru, a city that feels less like a place and more like a sentiment.

I came here 20 years ago after my father’s retirement, seeking education and, unknowingly, a home. Over time, Bengaluru ceased to be a city I lived in — it became the rhythm I lived by. Unlike other metros racing against their clocks, Bengaluru has mastered the art of wasting time beautifully. Here, “wasting time” isn’t an act of idleness — it’s a luxury that allows you to connect with yourself.

While Gurgaon, where I lived for some time, had its food and pace, Bengaluru offered something rarer — balance. Its open-air cafés, its laughter-filled breweries (ironic, since I’m a teetotaller), and its forever-spring weather all conspire to slow you down just enough to feel alive. Even my air conditioner, which hasn’t been switched on in years, sits as a decorative relic of a bygone need.

What truly defines this city, however, is its soul — its people. Bangaloreans pursue hobbies as passionately as professions. From my salsa sessions with Kirti and Sai from Latin Dance India to Saturday runs with Stride Club, life here hums with art, dance, paint, and music. Weekends are less about rest and more about rediscovery.

True, we grumble about traffic and potholes — even the ever-dynamic Kiran Mazumdar-Shaw has taken them up with the administration — but we do it with humour and grace. After all, no amount of civic chaos can dent the charm of a city where laughter fills the jams and raindrops perfume the air.

Bengaluru may not be flawless, but it’s fearless — a city that teaches you to breathe between moments, between raindrops, between hearts.

Bhaavna Arora, Bengaluru